


Snow Falling, Sam/Dean, NC-17

by meus_venator



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Christmas, Christmas fic, Dubious Consent, M/M, Mob boss Dean, NOT a death!fic, SPN Christmas, Winter, brief glimpse of the death a child, brief instance of dub-con, mob boss!Dean, not wincest, unrelated boys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-16
Updated: 2013-12-16
Packaged: 2018-01-04 21:35:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 19,575
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1085946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meus_venator/pseuds/meus_venator
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The city of New York breathed a collective sigh of relief when infamous crime boss Dean Winchester was shot down, but things aren't exactly what they seem. Not with a man like Dean Winchester, Sam remembers another man.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Snow Falling

**Author's Note:**

  * For [marilena172](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=marilena172).
  * Translation into 中文 available: [【翻译】Snow Falling/雪依旧落下](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7847902) by [Goodoge](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Goodoge/pseuds/Goodoge)



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>  **Title:** [Snow Falling](http://meus-venator.livejournal.com/52933.html)  
>  **Writer:**[](http://meus-venator.livejournal.com/profile)[ **meus_venator**](http://meus-venator.livejournal.com/)  
>  **Alpha Read:** [](http://sylsdarkplace.livejournal.com/profile)[**sylsdarkplace**](http://sylsdarkplace.livejournal.com/)  
>  **Beta/Editor:** [](http://fufaraw.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://fufaraw.livejournal.com/)**fufaraw**  
>  **Alternate links:** [Live Journal](http://meus-venator.livejournal.com/52933.html)  
>  **Genre:** SPN AU  
>  **Characters:** Sam/Dean  
>  **Rating:** NC-17  
>  **Warnings:** M/M sex, brief instance of dub-con, brief glimpse of the death a child (but not a main character)  
>  **Disclaimer:** Supernatural and its character's are the exclusive property of the CW network. I am only playing with them for fun. Only the story itself is of my own invention.
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>  ** **Length:** ** 20,000  
>  **A/N:** Written for spn_j2_xmas Gift Exchange   **[marilena172](http://marilena172.livejournal.com/) ** for the **[](http://spn-j2-xmas.livejournal.com/profile)[**spn_j2_xmas**](http://spn-j2-xmas.livejournal.com/) Gift Exchange** I do so hope you like it. I actually started with your A/B/O prompt, but 20k later it wasn't even started, so I'll have to finish that another day LOL. For now I give you **Snow Falling**. :)  
>  **A/N 2:** Thanks so much to my long suffering friend  [](http://fufaraw.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://fufaraw.livejournal.com/) **fufaraw** , who made this story so much better with her lovely edits. So much appreciated.  
>  **A/N 3:** Photos snagged from   
> **wolfpup2000** 's journal of goodies, thanks so much, they make the whole story so much more real.  
>  ** **Summary:**** _The city of New York breathed a collective sigh of relief when infamous crime boss Dean Winchester was shot down, but Sam remembers another man._
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> [](http://meus-venator.livejournal.com/52525.html)  
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> [ Book Cover ]

 

 

 

 

 

 

Sam’s fingers steepled under his chin as he gazed out the limo window at the falling snow. His breath fogged the glass as miles of grimy New York City streets sped past. He had stopped watching long ago.

He tried to find some comfort that Dean had met his end in winter, the season he loved most, the season he and Dean had first met. But whatever comfort that thought might be, it was too little to matter – Sam had seen the paparazzi photos. Dean’s body sprawled broken in the center of an unsurvivable amount of blood splayed out like shattered wings on the dirty snow, of a neglected alleyway. Dean’s face staring straight ahead, sightless, not a mark on him. Handsome even in death, Dean made a beautiful corpse.

The call had come, as Sam supposed all these kinds of calls do, at a bad time. Laughing, he had been making some joke with Jess, throwing on his coat. They had been on their way out for the evening, a fundraiser for the Library.

“Professor Winchester, Merry Christmas!” A grin covered Sam’s face as he paused at the foot of the stairs to answer his cell. He threw his hat at the still-laughing Jess, shushing her.

“Sam Winchester?”

His smile drained away. Jess’s giggle cut off abruptly as she watched his expression.

“Yes, this is he. With whom am I speaking?”

“This is Tiny, Sam… Tiny from the old neighborhood. Umm, I need to talk to you.”

Sam’s forehead furrowed, dread forming a pit in the bottom of his gut. He swallowed, “Hi Tiny, yes, of course I remember you. Hey, how the heck are you? Did you get my number from Dean? He’s the only one who has it.”

“Yeah, I did. Listen, sorry to call you so late but…”

“It’s only nine o’clock here, three hour time shift. What’s going on, Tiny?

“It’s about the boss, Sam. It’s about Dean.”

“God, is he in trouble? Is Dean alright?”

“He gave me your number, told me not to share it with anyone…but if…if something was ta happen to him, I was ta, you know, call you. To let ya’ know, and all.”

“What’s wrong, what’s happened?” Sam’s voice rose in volume.

As if from a distance, Sam realized Jess was clutching at his arm, looking up into his face, deeply concerned. His hand was numb from his stranglehold on the bannister railing.

“The boss is dead, Sam. He was killed at a meeting with Little Huey. We think the LaRosa family put a hit out on him. Jesus, they was just going to go out and have lunch together. I-I don’t think he felt any pain, Sam. It was right to the heart.”

Sam collapsed heavily onto the hall stairs, his legs sprawled in front of him.

“Sam! Sam, are you all right?” Tiny’s voice grew distant as Sam’s hand fell, boneless, into his lap.

He swallowed, and tried to push back the ringing in his ears that was blotting out all sound. Jess tried to ask him something, but he couldn’t hear her, he barely registered that her lips were moving. Tears threatened to flow, but he ruthlessly shoved them back. He had to keep it together, had to know.

It wasn't as though he had believed it would never happen. Dean lived on the edge – hell, Dean defined the edge. Sam knew it had only been a matter of time before he got a call like this. Even so, it was like all the color was being leached out of the world. His whole body hurt, as if he'd been dealt a great tearing, ragged wound, lost a leg, or an arm, or his heart. Numbly he stared down at the floor. Dean….dead.

“Sam, are you still there? Sam? Sam?!”

Wearily Sam pulled the phone back to his ear. “Tell me exactly what happened.”

 

The light turned red and the limo came to a temporary halt. Sam blinked and roused himself to note how close they were. In the corner of his eye he caught a glimpse of something. In the alley, a circle of boys around a fight.

 

**THEN**

“Kick 'im Simon, teach 'im a lesson!”

Sam grunted as the boot caught him in the chin. His head spun back and cracked against the unforgiving brick of the alley. At eight years old, he was still small for his age and the force of the blow drove his backpack into his ribs. He gasped for air as the candy bar dropped from his nerveless fingers. One of the swarm dived on it; dazed, Sam licked his cracked lips. He was so hungry, the loss of the food was worse than the beatdown he was taking for it.

Someone grabbed him by his backpack and hauled him forward on his knees in front of two spread legs. Out of the eye still capable of sight, Sam followed the line of the boy's boots, up his tattered jeans-clad leg to the crossed arms, and up to the surly, disapproving face staring down at him.

“Teach you to poach on our turf. Nobody cuts into the Raiders' action. 'Specially not a snot-nosed little dwarf like you.” A meaty fist swung, connecting the side of his head with a dull thud, and Sam slumped to the ground.

“Hey! Hey, what the hell are you guys doing?”

“Fuck off, Winchester. This is none of your concern.”

“He’s a kid, for fuck's sake.” Someone pushed through the crowd, taller than the other boys. Sam whimpered and curled up tighter on the ground where he had fallen. Everything hurt, and his teeth chattered, he was so cold.

“So? He lifted something on our turf. Gotta teach him a lesson.”

A hand reached toward Sam’s head. He flinched and squeezed his good eye closed, waiting for the blow. But the fingers only pushed his overlong bangs gently back from his eyes. Someone crouched down beside him and a thumb rubbed carefully over his forehead. “It’ll be okay squirt, I’ve gotcha.”

Sam’s eyelids fluttered open. A boy's face loomed over him, deep moss green eyes, and spiky, dirty blond hair. Sam blinked up until his vision cleared. The boy was beautiful, even as young as he was, Sam could tell. The green eyes squinted at him in concern, and the mouth hardened as the boy thumbed away some of the blood in Sam’s eyes. The boy smiled sadly, “Green eyes, just like mine. Pretty boy.”

Sam looked at the boy, confused. He knew what he must see, a kid, too skinny by half, his bones jutting out of his too-thin frame, cheekbones too prominent on his narrow face. Sam shook his head.

“Get out of the way, Winchester.” The boy who had been beating on him shoved at the newcomer's shoulder and the newcomer whirled, rising to his full height in front of Sam. His fists flew, and the boy who had been beating on Sam fell heavily to the ground.

The rest of the pack backed off, a brave few tried to help the fallen boy lift himself from the ground. Blood streamed from his nose, staining the snow red. “Fuck! Why’d ya do that, Winchester?”

“'Cause he’s mine. I claim him. And no one touches what’s mine.”

 

At his side again, the boy crouched beside Sam. “Hey kid, think you can walk?”

Sam nodded. He’d crawl if he had to, he would do everything in his power to stay close to his savior.

Helping him to his feet, the boy dusted the snow off him, and asked, “You hungry, kid? Ugh, stupid question. Of course you’re hungry, and cold too. Come on, we’ll go back to my place.”

Arm around Sam’s shoulders, the boy helped as Sam limped through several interconnecting alleyways. Sam hurt so bad he felt like crying, but he had to stay strong, make sure the boy didn’t leave him 'cause he was a sissy baby. That’s what his sister called him when he cried. His sister wasn’t going to do that anymore though, was she? The thought had tears welling in Sam’s eyes and he knocked them away quickly, scrubbing his face before the older boy could see. A hand flashed out, though, and grabbed his wrist.

“What’s this? Why you crying, kid? I’m not gonna hurt you.” Green eyes looked down at him with an expression of reproach, and hurt. Sam absently noted a smattering of freckles covering the boy's face. He unconsciously reached out.

The boy jerked, then steadied when he realized Sam only wanted to touch.

“They’re freckles, kid. Lots’a folks are cursed with them. So come on, why the waterworks?”

Sam struggled to control the wobbly lip that threatened, and more tears leaked out. “If I’m a sissy, you’ll leave me, just like my sister did.”

The boy's face grew serious. “Not gonna happen, kid. I’m stuck on you like glue. Come on, pizza’s waiting.”

Sam's savior glanced warily around, checking the alley to see if anyone was watching, before he carefully lifted a piece of corrugated tin on a hinge, and ushered Sam inside an old outbuilding.

It was dark inside when the makeshift door was carefully lowered back into place, but at least a few degrees warmer than outside. The boy quickly lit a small candle. “So this is it," the boy beamed proudly. “Home sweet home.” He gestured around the little outbuilding, a lone window high in one wall letting in a pale beam of light. Several dilapidated pieces of tinsel and the odd cut out paper snowflake were pinned up along the walls in an attempt to make it more cheery. Suddenly homesick, Sam looked over at the older boy, his mouth quivering as a flood of mixed emotions filled him. One lone tear trickled down his cheek.

The boy cocked his head and grinned, “What can I say, I like Christmas.” He struck his hand out to Sam. “Dean Winchester. Good to meet ya.”

Wiping another tear away, Sam held out his hand. It trembled a little, but Dean took it in his strong grasp. “Sam Singer.”

“Nah, you’re not Sam Singer anymore. You’re Sam Winchester.”

Both boys smiled at each other, and Dean tugged Sam down onto the mishmash of bedrolls and blankets that covered the floor of the small room. He grabbed up a greasy-looking pizza box, and proffered it toward Sam.

“Come on, I snagged it this afternoon, was saving it for supper. It’s still fresh, eat up.”

Sam didn’t think twice before he grabbed a slice, and together the two boys devoured the pie. Later that night when Sam started to nod off, sleepy and full for the first time in weeks, Dean started to rearrange the blankets, making a separate bed for Sam.

“Bedtime, big guy,” Dean singsonged, ruffling Sam’s hair.

Sam asked Dean to turn around while he changed. Snickering, the older boy obliged, stripping down himself to an old t-shirt and shorts. It felt good when Sam pulled out his favorite Spider Man pajamas he had rolled up in his knapsack, and put them on. Sam hadn’t worn them since he’d run. Most nights, he’d been too scared to sleep, let alone change. He was still in the clothing he'd worn when he fled the house that night.

When Sam was changed, he took his stuffed bear out of his knapsack and slid between the covers Dean held up for him. Sam knew he was a little old for stuffed animals, but he knew Mr. Bear needed his company, now that he was alone, too. Shivering with cold, Sam curled into a small lump under the blankets, hugging Bear close.

Mr. Bear went to sleep right away, but tired as he was, Sam fidgeted, restless, unused to the creaks and groans of the shed and the occasional voices from outside in the alley. He stared out into the darkness. He knew from Dean’s breathing that the older boy was still awake as well. The two lay there side by side on their makeshift bedrolls in silence until Dean huffed out a breath and rolled over to face him. The moonlight filtering into the little shed made Dean’s cat green eyes glint in the dark. He smiled, it was nice not to be alone, to maybe have a friend again.

“Nice bear, kid. What’s his name?”

“Mr. Bear,” Sam whispered softly, and clutched Bear tight. He hoped Dean wouldn’t take Bear away from him.

“So how’d you end up here, Sammy boy?”

“It’s Sam,” he said huffily. “No one calls me Sammy but Stephy, and she’s gone now.”

“Where’d she go, Sam?” Dean asked softly, reaching through the darkness to touch Sam’s shoulder.

Sam was quiet for a while, but Dean had been so good to him, so patient. He had earned an explanation. And something about Dean made Sam feel safe enough to share. “Daddy got mad. He came home drunk one night and was really mad, said he’d lost his job and Santa wasn’t coming this year. Steph – I tried to stop her, but she’s only six, and she started to cry. Daddy shook her and shook her, and she cried harder…” Sam broke off, and hugged Mr. Bear tighter. Mr. Bear was getting upset, he had seen, he knew how awful Daddy had been. Sam whispered quietly in Mr. Bear’s ear trying to comfort him, to reassure Bear that it would be okay, that they were all right.

“Then what happened, Sammy?” Dean asked gently, as he pulled Sam in his blanket cocoon closer to Dean’s warmth.

Sam wasn’t sure whether it was Dean’s kind voice or the warmth of being curled up against him, but it was like he was a bottle that had been shaken. He couldn’t hold the words in anymore, the horrible, horrible secret, and it just all spewed out.

“Daddy threw her against the wall, he threw her, De. And then she wasn’t crying anymore. I was so scared. Why would he do something like that? She’s only a little girl. I ran over to her, I tried to wake her up, but my hand came away red. She wasn’t moving, De…. I shook her, and called her name, but she didn’t answer. Then Daddy hit me, and I ran. I ran so hard. Daddy yelled, calling for me to come back, but I was so scared, De, I was so scared, and I left Stephy alone. I shouldn’t have done that, I know, but I was so scared of what Daddy did. I hid in Mr. Baxter’s doghouse. Mitsy sleeps inside, it’s too cold for her outside, but it was okay.”

Dean pulled Sam closer to him, rocking him gently and Sam burrowed in closer. It felt good to tell. Only he and Mr. Bear had ever talked about it. He’d never told anyone else what he’d seen, never told anyone what happened, before. But Dean ¬– Dean seemed to care. Sam bit back a sob. It had been so long since he’d talked about Steph, it was like his sister was fading away right in front of him because he wasn't remembering her.

“I watched the next day when the police came. They brought my daddy out, and then the ambulance came. They came out of the house with a rolly thing and I thought, oh good, Stephy will get to see a doctor now, but there was a sheet, Dean, they had a sheet pulled up over her, even over her face, and Daddy was crying. I’ve never seen Daddy cry before. The police put him into a car and took him away. And the ambulance went away with Stephy. She wasn’t moving, De, she was so still under the sheet. She wouldn’t have cared, really, if Santa didn’t come. She was just scared.” Sam shivered in memory, more tears leaking from his eyes.

“I went inside after – after everyone was gone. I wanted to get Steph’s bear, Mr. Bear. They forgot him, and she wouldn’t want to be without him. She cries at night when she doesn’t have him. He’s staying with me now, but can we take him to her Dean? I don’t want her to be alone.”

Dean pulled him closer still, circling his arms around Sam and squeezing him and Bear so hard Sam wasn’t sure if he could breathe, but it felt good. It was so good to have someone hold him, and hug him tight. He didn’t think Mr. Bear would mind.

Sam remembered how rough Dean’s voice had been when he finally spoke. He leaned down and kissed the top of Sam’s head. “You betcha, Sam. Anything you want, Sammy.”

It was the first good sleep Sam had had in a long time.

 

It had been a big break when Dean had managed to finagle his way in to the organization, small jobs at first, doing drops and running numbers, anything to keep them eating. It hadn’t taken long for them to learn that JD, who ran the whole lower east side, had a reputation as a ruthless man, never to be crossed, but it’s not like anyone else was paying. Standing there in his office, though, Sam was surprised to see the man smile, crinkles showing in the corners of his eyes, and dents beneath the salt and pepper scruff of his beard.

He’d hid his eleven year old self behind the bulk of Dean’s body for the most part, peering warily out at the older man behind the desk. Sam’s eyes tracked the man’s movement, strong blunt hands as they cut the end off a cigar and lit up. Piercing hazel eyes watched him through the swirl of smoke.

Sam flinched when Dean’s hand wrapped around his forearm and pulled him forward.

“So this is Sam.” JD blew out a smoke ring, his eyes watching Sam carefully.

“Yes, sir.” Dean stood at attention. Glancing up at him through his shaggy bangs, Sam watched in admiration. He tried to straighten and adjust his awkward, too-skinny body to mimic Dean’s stance.

“You got Deano’s back, Sam? When he has to go on my runs, you gonna have his six?” JD’s gruff voice had Sam’s head swiveling forward. He nodded mutely.

“And you know what happens if you ever cross him, or me, don’cha Sam?”

JD leaned back in his tufted leather chair, and Sam swallowed, nodding quickly.

“You got a tongue boy? Answer me. Like a man.”

“Ye-Yes, sir.” Sam stuttered out.

“Good." JD nodded, blowing another plume of smoke. "Now scat, the two of you. Dean, I want him in school, every day. Now that you’re working for me, I don’t want social services on my ass about the brat. You either, for that matter, it took a lot of work to get you enrolled again without anyone looking at your records too close. Don’t make me regret taking you on, kid, and don’t think I won’t know when you’re skipping. Unless you’re on a drop for me, I want your asses in school. We clear? And take this.” JD tossed Dean a small wrapped present. “Merry Christmas kid, you done good””

“Yes sir, JD. And thanks!” Dean nodded.He snatched the present out of the air and tugged at Sam’s hand to get him moving toward the door. As they turned to leave, Dean wrapped his arm protectively around Sam’s thin shoulders and whispered, “Don’t look Sammy,” as two of JD’s men dragged Mr. Chow from the restaurant down the street in past them, and threw him on the floor in front of JD.

Sam remembered glancing back as JD swiveled in his chair, taking in the view from his historic brownstone. The man winked at Sam before turning his attention to where Mr. Chow knelt, groveling and begging on the floor. Sam remembered the way JD’s expression turned cold and cruel. He never forgot that.

 

The pop can bounced off the sides of the alleyway and rattled to a halt. Sam was almost home. He was going to turn eleven in two weeks and Dean had promised they celebrate and go out to a real restaurant for the evening. Things had been going pretty well. Their new place in JD’s warehouse was a big step up for the two of them: more room, real locks on the doors, even a little heat. Best of all, it had real washrooms…

With another kick, the can bounced out of sight around the corner. Following it, Sam had just rounded the corner of the building when a dull thump and soft grunt made him look up. A group of older boys, young men really, were busy beating someone within an inch of their life. Sam recognized them from a rival gang, the Ciucci family. When their leader, Joe Beaker, moved back, Sam realized that the someone was Dean. Two of Joe’s goons held Sam's brother’s arms, while a third took turns punching him in the gut and face. Dean’s face was bleeding so badly Sam wasn’t sure he even recognized him.

Without thinking, Sam started to run toward them, yanking off his backpack and slamming it into Joe’s back, screaming, “Leave him alone!” and pummeling him with his fists. Joe'd had it in for Dean ever since he’d lost his prize possession, a 1967 Impala, to him in a card game. Joe insisted Dean had cheated, but Sam knew Dean didn’t cheat at cards. He didn’t need to.

Joe backhanded Sam, slamming him against the alley wall. Dean, eyes nearly swollen shut, raged and struggled against his captors. “Leave my kid brother alone, you _sonofabitch_! Pick on someone your own size!”

Joe had turned back to Dean, fist raised, when a black mustang skidded to a halt in front of the warehouse. Chris, Prettyboy John, and Tiny tumbled out of the car. Tiny had a baseball bat, while Prettyboy had his brass knuckles. Chris’s pale eyes surveyed the situation, a Barretta in his hand. “Let him go and back the fuck up, or it will be the last thing you ever do.”

The men holding Dean dropped him like he was on fire. Dean leapt at Joe, taking him down in one ferocious move. Joe’s head smashed against the asphalt with a terrible thump. Almost blind, blood in his mouth, Dean punched at Joe's face like a mad man, over and over again, his voice low and eerily calm. “You touch my brother again and I’ll kill you. First, I’ll cut off your hands so you can never do it again, and then I’ll feed them to you, make you choke on them. You hear me, Joe? You hear me, you motherfucker? I’ll kill you!”

There was no answer. Unresisting, Joe’s head whipped back and forth like a puppet with cut strings, his body gone lax, as Dean continued the beating. Finally, Tiny stepped in and pulled a hissing and spitting Dean off the body. Tearing himself away from Tiny with a curse, Dean ran to Sam. Kneeling to run searching hands up and down Sam's body, Dean checked frantically to see if the younger boy was all right. Numb with horror, Sam gazed over Dean’s shoulder, holding his breath, waiting to see if Joe was still alive.

Finally, gasping up blood, and maybe a tooth or two, Joe coughed and gagged his way back to life and tried to rise.

“Are you okay, Sammy?" Dean demanded, searching Sam's face for reassurance. "I’ll kill him if he hurt one hair on your head." Dean spun to snarl over his shoulder, "You hear that Joe?” Joe was still attempting to rise. He slipped and fell back to the ground with a grunt. “Get him the hell out of here!” Dean roared, and Joe’s men – more than a bit the worse for wear for their own run-ins with Prettyboy and Tiny – hastily grabbed Joe’s arms and began to drag him away.

Satisfied, Dean returned his attention to Sam. He took Sam’s chin in his hands, forcing him to look at him. “Talk to me, Sammy-boy. Are you okay?” Dazed, Sam stared wide-eyed into Dean’s eyes, and for the first time ever, he feared how far his brother might go for him.

 

“Got a surprise for you, Sam, my man.” Dean’s green eyes sparkled, with a big smile plastered across his face. A few stray snowflakes clung to his eyelashes and hair. Sam grinned back and tugged on his backpack as other kids streamed by him and the school yard emptied. Dean’s breath misted around him, as he stood from his slouch against his car’s hood.

Suddenly, Dean reached down and scooped up a handful of snow, rolling it expertly, and threw the snowball right at Sam, pegging him in the side of the head. Dean laughed as Sam stood there in surprise, a foolish grin on his face. A huge smile covering his face, Dean bent down again and began packing another snowball. Sam scampered to make one of his own.

“Oh it’s so on!” Sam hooted, diving for cover as another snowball sailed over his shoulder.

Soon they were pelting each other with snow and ice and anything they could lay their hands on, peals of laugher echoing in the empty schoolyard. Sam’s aim was wildly off, but what he lacked in accuracy he made up for in quantity. A million snowballs later, Sam finally managed to nail Dean right in the face with a particularly wet handful. Laughing so hard he could hardly stand, Dean threw up his hands in mock surrender, “Uncle, Sammy, Uncle.” Too exhausted to keep fighting, their sides aching from laughter, they fell against the hood of the Impala to regain their breath. Dean threw a last remaining handful of snow up in the air and Sam watched as it fell down around them.

"Your snowballs suck, Sammy," Dean smirked, knocking Sam’s shoulder with his own.

“Yours are worse,” Sam flung back at his brother.

“In your dreams, Sammy boy.” Dean chuckled, wiping snow off his jacket. Squinting up at him, Sam drank in every inch of his brother. The weak winter sun struck glints in Dean’s hair.

Sam tried not to stare at Dean's latest scar, a jagged gash that ran down through one eyebrow and along the corner of his eye, earned after a drug deal went wrong. There’d been so many changes in Dean these last few years. At twelve, Sam had started noticing and asking awkward questions, but Dean didn’t like to talk about what he did for JD, so Sam tried not to ask. He concentrated on his studies and did his best to make Dean proud.

Sam arched a brow in query. He didn’t actually care what the surprise was, as long as Dean kept smiling. His smile was becoming rarer and rarer.

“Come on, let’s go, squirt.” Dean held the door to the Impala while Sam slid into the passenger seat, then he hustled around to the driver's side. He’d been fixing her up for a while, now, and other than the squeak in the passenger door, she was almost mint.

“How was school?” Dean reached out to ruffle melting snow out of Sam’s hair after he’d eased into traffic.

Sam's head tingled at the touch and he side-eyed Dean and jerked out of reach. Lately, Dean’s touch – heck, his very presence in a room – was giving Sam funny thoughts about his brother, thoughts he wasn’t sure were right to be having. He shook his head, and reached to crank up the heat in the Impala.

“What? You still mad at me?”

Sam's brain stuttered for a moment, needing some distraction from what he had been feeling, “You forgot,” he burst out, falling back on the previous night's miscue for cover.

“Sam, listen, I didn’t forget. I would have been there, honest. But something – something came up, and JD needed me. You want our family to be a success, right? Well, that means I gotta go when JD calls, and he called. But don’t sweat it, you’ll win another debate, and I’ll be there, grinning like a fool, to see it. You won right? That’s what really matters.”

“Did you hurt anyone?”

“Sam!” The light turned to red and Dean turned to look at Sam sorrowfully. “I thought we’d agreed we wouldn’t discuss what I do at work, anymore. Now, leave it alone. I got us a big surprise I want to show you, and I don’t want you to spoil it. Besides, they got what was coming to them.”

Sam dropped his chin onto his chest and continued mutinously, “I know you don’t like doing the stuff JD has you do, Dean. Why can’t we just leave? Why can’t we just go somewhere else?”

“There’s things you don’t understand, Sam. I don’t have an education like you’re getting. What kind of living could I make at sixteen, with no high school? What do I say, I’ve got experience at the drug trade? Working at a donut hut isn’t going to put food on the table, or put you through university, my man. We gotta suck it up. I’m gonna look after you, so don't you worry about me. We got a good deal going on here, right? Am I right, Sam?” Dean pushed on Sam’s shoulder until Sam grudgingly agreed. He hated the life Dean was forced to live, to keep both of them safe, and keep a roof over their heads. He would put up with it while he had to, until he could take Dean someplace better. But that didn’t mean he had to like it.

“Okay, De. I get it. Sorry for being such a bitch… you jerk.” Sam smiled and looked slyly over at Dean, who grinned back, and dropped his shades down onto his nose. “That’s my boy! Believe me when I say, this is one treat you’re going to like.”

They pulled up in front of a modest laundromat, north of alphabet city, with only a little grafitti on the building. The main window of the shop was gaudily painted in a Christmas scene with Santa and a two really overweight reindeer pulling a load of laundry. Dean snorted when Sam pointed it out. It wasn’t in a great part of town, but it wasn’t the dump they were living in now, either. Dean eased into the side alleyway to a parking spot out back, and gestured at the steps up to the second floor.

“What’s this, De?” Sam asked, curious, hitching his schoolbag over his shoulder and turning to check out the neighborhood.

“This is our new home, Sam.” Dean’s smile was as blinding as the sun.

Squinting up at the building, Sam smirked. “What? We can’t afford something like this. What’s this really about?”

“I’m being serious, Sammy. It’s not the whole building, just the top floor. I got a small promotion. So, I’ll be earning enough money now from JD to be able to afford a nicer place. A safer one – hell, maybe in twenty or thirty years I’ll even be able to afford us a house all to ourselves.”

“What’s this promotion mean, Dean? You’re already missing too much school. Don’t you want to graduate? Be something?”

Dean shrugged. “I’m all I’m gonna be, Sammy. You, you’re the smart one in the family. You’ll do the big things. Me, I’m just a cog in the machine. But I can keep food on the table." Dean laughed. "God knows, with your appetite, we need all we can get.” Sam admired the line of his throat, the way Dean threw his whole body into the laugh, but he hated how his brother put himself down.

“But you’re smart, Dean. You’re so much more than this. I hate you working for JD, strong-arming grocery store owners for protection money, pushing drugs, hurting people. It’s not you, Dean. You shouldn’t have to do stuff like that.”

An expression flitted across Dean’s face so quickly Sam almost missed it. It was so sad Sam wished he had never opened his mouth about this. But the next minute it was gone, almost like he might have imagined it, and Dean grabbed him in a headlock and reeled him against his chest, squeezing him in a fake wrestling chokehold. He smiled, a big, wide grin, but the smile didn’t reach his eyes. “Come on, Sam, come check it out. Don’t ruin this for me.”

Chastened, Sam followed his big brother, his Converse sneakers dragging through the wet snow dusting the parking lot. The apartment was awesome inside, even Sam had to admit it, with a newish fridge and stove, and a ceiling that wasn’t water-stained. No buckets were set out to catch leaks from the roof, and this close to Christmas, the heat seemed to be working pretty well, too. Best of all, Dean had ordered a brand new mattress for each of their rooms. Sam hadn’t slept on anything that wasn't all lumps or sags, or that didn’t smell of other people's sweat – and worse – for years.

Dean blushed when Sam hugged him, hard enough to stagger him a little. “Hey, take it easy, tiger. You’re getting bigger, you could knock me right over.” Sam’s smile faltered. It was the first time since Sam had come into Dean’s life that the older boy had ever pulled away from him.

Sam tried not to let it affect his mood, but there was more at work here than he had first thought. “De, I didn’t mean to upset you about work, and all.”

“Ah, hey, no. No, that’s not it. It’s just like I said, you’re getting big now. Can’t be running around hugging me all the time. People will start to look at us strange, that’s all, spud.”

Moving day had been easy. Chris and Tiny and a couple other guys from Dean’s crew brought a van to load the few pieces of thrift store furniture they’d accumulated, and Sam and Dean loaded the Impala with any stray items.

Dean had even surprised Sam with a small Christmas tree. It was fake, of course, but that didn’t dampen Sam’s enthusiasm as he coerced Dean and the guys to help decorate it with paper chains, like Sam remembered doing years ago. Chris even pulled out some small ornaments he’d got at the Goodwill as a housewarming present. When it was finished, they all stood back and admired it. It was Sam’s first real tree since leaving home, and he gave Dean a back-cracking hug in thanks. Their new place was perfect, just perfect.

Small as the place was, it was still late by the time they finished up with celebratory takeout. Sam called it a night, leaving Dean and the boys playing cards and drinking beer in the kitchen. He couldn’t wait to crawl into bed. Dean had insisted that they pick up real bed frames for the new mattresses, and Sam looked forward to his first sleep in the new place. The double-sized mattress was more than big enough for Sam’s twelve-year-old body. He lay starfished on the bed and swept his hands over the new sheets, humming in pleasure, and luxuriating at the crisp, clean material under his palms.

 

Late in the night, a ruckus outside Sam’s room woke him. Long in habit of being careful in rough neighborhoods, Sam just cracked his bedroom door open a sliver to see what had happened.

Peering out, it was clear that JD and his men had crashed the party. JD, more than a little tipsy, had a bottle of Jack in his hand as he walked around the apartment. His two bodyguards were positioned at the door, and Chris hovered by the fridge with a beer in his hand. Tiny was still seated in one of the kitchen chairs, looking uncomfortable. The table lay knocked on its side; Dean and Prettyboy were cleaning up the mess of broken glass, beer and pretzels on the floor.

“So, I just wanted to drop by and see how my favorite boy was. See his new place. Coming up in the world, Deano. Who knows how high you might rise, given the right persuasion. How grateful you are.” JD took a slug of jack and went to stand behind Dean, his hand resting proprietarily on Dean’s shoulder. Sam couldn’t see the expression on Dean’s face, his head was bowed and turned away.

“The rest of you, out!” JD roared unexpectedly, his voice slurred.

Chris paused to look at Dean as they all bundled themselves up to leave. Dean only shrugged, “Later, boys. It’s gettin’ late anyway.”

“That means you two, too,” JD snarled, and JD’s men shuffled out quickly.

Soon, Dean was left alone, the remains of a broken glass and a few paper towels in his hand, and JD looming behind him. Sam sucked in a silent breath, careful not to make a sound.

“Where’s that pretty brother of yours?” JD's voice was drunk-loud. He turned to rifle through the cupboards while Dean threw the last of the broken shards in the trash. “And where’s a God damn glass when you need one?”

“Gone to bed. He has classes early, so keep it down, boss.” Dean glanced toward Sam’s door, and Sam was barely able to duck out of sight in time. “Maybe we should take this into the bedroom,” Dean coaxed, finding JD a glass and pouring for him.

JD knocked the drink back and looped an arm around Dean’s shoulders, pulling him in close. “Hmm, I don’t know, I’d kind of like to see you bent over that sofa right there. Sorta christen the place, you know what I mean?” JD chuckled drunkenly and dipped down to nibble at Dean’s neck.

Dean unwrapped himself from the man's octopus grip and took JD’s hand, tugging him in the direction of his bedroom. “I’ve got a brand new bed and every –”

“Don’t make me tell you twice, son.” JD yanked his hand loose, and with a sudden show of strength, shoved Dean toward the arm of the sofa, and fumbled to loosen his belt.

“You keep yourself ready for me, baby?”

Sam flinched at the familiarity in JD’s voice, like this had happened before, and often. But Dean wouldn't, Dean couldn’t – Dean nodded and walked quietly into the living room area, head hanging low. He pulled his pants down around his ankles, and bent over the sofa arm, his back to Sam’s door.

Sam’s eyes widened as he watched. He wasn’t a kid anymore, he’d seen a thing or two, but to think of Dean having sex with JD sent a shiver down his spine.

JD moved up behind Dean’s bent body and nudged his hip. “You forget your manners, son? A host always makes a guest comfortable, first.”

Dean’s gaze was hooded when he turned and silently sank to his knees in front of JD. His hands reached to the man's fly, first pulling the zipper down so he could ease JD’s pants and briefs down around his thighs. He took JD’s half-hard cock carefully out of his pants and licked his lips, his face flushed red with shame.

Sam watched in horrified fascination as Dean began to stroke JD’s cock, then moved to lick along the shaft. Sam swallowed as Dean's hands continued to stroke the man's shaft while Dean’s head tipped down to mouth at his balls. JD’s fingers slid into Dean's hair, gripping hard to shake Dean’s head. “Don’t tease me, boy.”

Dean nodded and knelt up, stretching his mouth over the fat head of JD’s cock, and with no preamble, swallowed his cock down.

Sam pressed forward against the door in fascination, watching as Dean’s plush pink lips worked over JD’s shaft. Sam’s cock chubbed in his pants. All the feelings he’d been having lately about Dean came into sudden focus as Dean bobbed up and down. JD moaned and pulled Dean's face in closer, to shove his dick further down Dean's throat.

Sam came in his jeans, his hand rubbing frantically over the denim.

He pulled back from the door in fear of being discovered, trying to get his breathing under control. By the time he returned to watch, JD had Dean shoved face-down over the arm of the sofa. Sam heard the rubber snap of JD pulling on a condom, and then a guttural grunt and squelch of lube as he sank into Dean’s hole.

Sam pressed himself up against the door, his breath hitching as he watched JD pound into his brother. Dean's face was buried in the sofa so Sam couldn’t see his expression, but he could hear his bitten-off grunts.

Sam would have given anything to see Dean’s face, see him aroused, pale skin grown pink, freckles standing out in stark contrast, Dean’s lips half open, his eyes closed to green slits as he gasped in pleasure. Yes, Sam would have given anything to put that look on Dean’s face.

Instead, the reality of the wet slap of JD’s body against Dean’s ass seemed harsh and gross. Sam could see how tightly JD held Dean’s hips, tight enough to bruise. And Dean’s cries weren’t so much sounds of pleasure as grunts of pain as JD went too hard and too fast. In spite of the sordid details of JD’s claiming, Sam’s twelve-year-old cock was fattening again.

With the wet mess he’d made of his shorts, it was gross and cold on the sensitive skin of his dick as it rubbed against the cotton. Frantic and urgent, Sam stripped off his jeans and threw his soiled shorts toward an empty corner of the room. Freed, he lost no time getting his hand on his own cock, stroking it to match JD's slapping rhythm. Sam’s eyes were even wider when he noticed Dean’s cock peeking out from where it was forced down between his legs. It was swollen and dripping, and Sam squeezed his own cock tighter and imagined touching Dean.

Almost as an afterthought, JD reached down and palmed Dean’s cock, stripping it absently a few times before he grasped Dean’s hips with both hands and thrust in haphazardly a few more times. Dean moaned and shot his load on the hardwood floor. Seconds later, JD came with a grunt, then collapsed with a drunken sigh, blanketing Dean’s body. He gave Dean’s cock a final few uncoordinated tugs, milking the last of its seed.

When JD shakily stood a few minutes later, Sam heard the wet plop of his cock being pulled from Dean’s hole. Sam bit back a groan of his own at the sight of Dean’s tight pink hole, swollen from it’s recent pounding and shiny with slick. Pushed over the edge, Sam came in his hand a second time, with a bitten-off grunt.

Backing away from the door, Sam continued to jack his twitching dick with one hand, while the other was shoved in his mouth to muffle his groans. He heard a creak as Dean stood up from the sofa and a sharp slap on what must have been Dean’s ass, and then a growled, “Come on, Deano, let’s go break in that new bed of yours, next.”

 

The next morning Sam was sitting on the floor at the coffee table in front of the sofa, eating his cereal and watching morning cartoons, when Dean staggered from his bedroom.

Track pants hung perilously low on Dean’s lean hips as he moved half asleep to the kitchen and started coffee to perk.

He returned later, mug of coffee in hand, to stand by Sam, who had given up on his Cheerios and stared morosely at the television set. “Is that how we can afford a place like this? Is that what you do for JD?” Sam asked quietly.

Dean looked down at him, his green eyes narrowed to slits. He cracked his neck side to side before taking another careful sip of his coffee. “Sammy, you’re not a baby anymore. You gotta know how the world works. That, last night, was nothing – and no, as a rule, letting JD screw me is not how we can afford a place like this. But when the boss wants you…” Dean’s gallic shrug sort of summed it up. “So, are you gonna be a little bitch about this?”

Sam kept his face down so Dean wouldn’t see his expression. It was kind of pointless though, he was sure his brother knew exactly what he was thinking. Dean deserved so much more than this, deserved so much better. Sam shook his head and silently resolved that one day Dean would have better, and that Sam would be the one to give it to him. One day, Sam promised himself, and Dean. One day…

But aloud, he said what Dean wanted to hear. “No, jerk. I’m not going to be a bitch about this, okay?”

 

The first time Dean was sentenced to prison Sam didn’t eat for three days. Tiny showed up at regular intervals with groceries and promises that Deano would be okay, that they had guys on the inside looking out for him. But it didn’t comfort Sam. Sam knew that Dean’s too-pretty face wouldn’t serve him well in juvie.

His grades slipped so badly that an exasperated Chris had to go to the school and pretend to be Sam’s uncle, while his ‘father’ was out of town for work, to explain the slip.

“Buck up squirt, or De’s gonna kick your ass when he gets out.” Chris hitched a hip up on the kitchen counter upon their return to the apartment.

“That Mrs. Frost really lives up to her name, don’t she, son? That’s one cruel mama you got there for a principal.”

Sam resisted the urge to roll his eyes and rooted around in the fridge for some OJ.

“Now, you know Dean’s not gonna come out quite the same as he went in, right? Even a stint in juvie changes a guy. You’ll have to be a bit patient with him for a while, Sam, you feel me? And go do your God damn homework, kid, I don’t want a repeat of what just happened here.” Chris grabbed the plastic bottle out of his hand and took a long swig from the jug.

“And get this place cleaned up. Dean comes home in two weeks. He ain’t comin’ home to a sty, or your head’s gonna be on a platter.”

Sam nodded. He had to do better, if for no one else, then for Dean.

 

A month to the day after Dean had been incarcerated, Sam stood in the parking lot with the rest of Dean’s crew at the gates of McMichael’s Hall for Boys. Hollow-eyed and exhausted, Sam’s heart was in his mouth as he waited in the falling snow, for Dean to come through the main doors. Shortly past noon, a swagger in his step and a smirk on his face, Dean strolled out.

Dean looked like his same old self. But Sam watched him carefully, looking for signs of the toll this had taken on his brother, and they were there, if you had the eyes to see. Dean was leaner, sharp angles on his cheekbones, and a watchful predatory look in his eyes.

Sam was just grateful to have him back all in one piece. He breathed out a relieved sigh and stood back as the rest of the crew mobbed Dean. Prettyboy slapped him on the back, while Chris grabbed his arm and reeled him in for a hug. Not to be outdone, Tiny picked Dean up off his feet, crushing him close, while Gabe carried on a running commentary of crude jokes.

Chris had driven the Impala over for Dean and Sam to get home in. When they’d finally departed with promises of beer the following night, Sam and Dean climbed in the car. Alone, for the first time, Dean’s mask slipped, not a lot, but enough for Sam to notice. Shivering, Sam and Dean cranked the heat and set the windshield wipers on high. On the car ride home, making their way through the blowing snow, neither of them said a word, but Dean never let go of Sam’s hand, not even to flick the turn signal.

They got home before the worst of the storm hit. Dean paced the apartment like a caged cat. Sam could see the tension running through his brother’s body. In an effort to get him to relax, Sam suggested that Dean shower and change while he made supper. Afterward, still restless and unable to stand the idea of staying inside any longer, Dean talked Sam into bundling up and climbing the rusty fire escape to the rooftop of the old Laundromat.

The world was silent and white as they sat in companionable silence, backs to the warm bricks of the chimney, watching snow fall over the city. The night sky was brightened by the flurries, large fat flakes that landed on their clothes and hair. Outside in the crisp, cool air, free, Dean seemed to settle. Sam could feel his body relaxing where it pressed up against him.

“I love the snow, Sammy, it’s so pure as it falls, so free. Then it hits the ground and turns grey and dirty, like everything else. But when it’s falling, Sam, there’s nothing prettier.”

Dean stared up at the sky in wonder, his mouth opening, his tongue darting outside to catch the falling flakes.

Watching Dean in that perfect silvery light, Sam’s heart beat so fast in his chest he thought it might burst, and he could only agree.

 

Sam opened the door to the apartment and staggered in, maybe just a tiny bit drunk, a cheese-eating grin plastered across his face. Steve’s parents had been out of town for the weekend, giving Sam’s small circle of friends the perfect party pad. Things had gone on a lot later than Sam had expected, and more to the point, Sam had had a surprisingly good time. Suddenly, at fifteen, being tall and a bit of a geek didn’t count against him.

The lights in the apartment were all out. It didn’t really matter when Sam came home, Dean trusted him. Dean would be at the club tonight. Saturday night always meant a big haul, and Dean liked to keep a close eye on the money. It was one of the reasons he had worked his way up through the ranks so fast. Dean, it turned out, was a genius at keeping track of cash, and at new ideas to make money. JD was a big fan of money.

Sam hummed tunelessly and grabbed the milk and a slice of baloney from the fridge, and a couple of slices of bread, and plunked down at the kitchen table. All Sam wanted right now was a quick snack and then, like, maybe ten hours of undisturbed sleep. Thinking back on the evening, he could maybe fit some time in first, though, to jerk off to the memory of Sandy’s sweet lips on his, his hand on her breast.

Sam smirked, it was official, he was cool. He’d kissed Sandra Pacetti in the kitchen, and she was cool, so by association, so was Sam. He guzzled the last of the milk and crumpled the now-empty carton, tossing it across the kitchen into the garbage. “And he scores!” Sam stood, arms raised overhead, and danced a small celebratory circle in the kitchen.

A low chuckle, or maybe a sob, from the living room stopped him mid-cheer. He peered into the darkness, and at first could see nothing. Then a bit of movement as the streetlight outside caught on a raised glass and Sam whispered, “Dean, is that you?”

“Go to bed, Sam.” Dean tried to growl, but his voice sounded strange. Sam immediately stepped closer. “I mean it, Sammy. Just go to bed.” Dean’s weary voice caught in something like a sob.

Sam licked his lips. This was wrong. Dean never acted like this. He needed to see Dean, see if he was okay. He reached for the table lamp, and Dean cried, “Don’t! No, leave it off!”

Too late. Sam had already pulled the chain, flooding their little living room with light. Dean covered his face like a vampire in an old Hollywood movie, “No, Sam, damnit.”

“Oh my God, Dean, what happened to you?” Sam sobered instantly, rushing forward into the room, and then came to an abrupt halt, his hands flailing in mid-air, unsure what to touch. “Where are you hurt?”

Dean was covered in blood, his grey dress pants stained almost black across the hips with it. The usually pristine white dress shirt was splattered, and when Dean dropped his hand wearily onto his knees, his face was covered in red streaks.

“I’m fine.” Dean slammed his drink down on the coffee table and when he did, Sam caught a look at the Beretta lying there.

“Dean–a gun? What the hell happened tonight?”

Dean scrubbed his hands over his face, smearing the undried blood into a fearsome mask. “Fuck, Sammy. I – I, it all happened so fast.

“What Dean? What the hell happened?”

“I killed a man,” Dean said, in a weirdly soft tone.

Dean rocked forward, folding his hands onto his knees, and started to keen. “I fucking warned him. I told him, if he stole from us again, I’d kill him. And he did, he shorted us. Almost two thousand bucks. I killed a man for a lousy two thousand bucks, Sam. But I had to… I had to.”

“It’s okay, Dean, it’s okay. I know. Did anyone see you? Are the police going to come looking for you?”

Dean shook his head. “No. No, Chris, he’s getting rid of the body. I just…”

Sam sat down next to Dean and gathered him into his arms. “It’s okay, Dean. It’ll be okay.”

“I killed him, Sam. I fucking killed him.”

Sam could hear the broken tone of his brother’s voice and he rocked him. Dean clung to his arm with a death grip as he rocked back and forth. Dimly, Sam realized Dean must be in shock.

“Hey. Hey, hey, come on, let’s get you showered and cleaned up, and into bed. It’ll be okay, Dean. You did what you had to."

Sam helped Dean to his feet and half carried, half led him to the bathroom. Every muscle in Dean’s body was quivering as he set him under the warm spray of the shower.

Dean's hand clamped down hard on Sam's shoulder, and Sam winced.

“Did I have to, Sammy? Did I? I know what you think. I know you hate me doing this. You think I’m better than this, but I’m not Sam. I’m not that smart, not like you. But if I can make enough money, do right in the organization, I can get you into any school you want, so you can be something, Sam… Not like me.”

“Dean, Jesus, if I could grow up to be half the man you are, I’d be happy. You’re a good person, Dean. And you don’t have to do this, for me, or anyone, we’ll find a way. I just hate to see you bending yourself into this person for money.”

“Money’s power, Sam. Without it, you get ground down and snuffed out.”

Sam swallowed, remembering how it was before Dean found him. He shivered, it’s not like Dean wasn’t right. Sam just thought there had to be another option.

 

After last of the blood was washed away, and Sam had gotten Dean dressed in a fresh t-shirt and briefs, he tucked his brother into bed.

Dean caught his hand as Sam started to leave.

“Stay with me, Sammy?” Dean looked small and pitiful where he lay curled up near the edge of the bed.

Nodding mutely, Sam stripped down to his t-shirt and boxers. In a sudden reversal of the pattern that had defined nearly Sam’s whole life, he climbed in behind Dean. It came home to him, how big he was now compared to his brother. Sure, he’d known he was taller, but it was only curling his body up behind Dean’s shaking frame that he realized that, somewhere along the line, he had grown up.

Burrowing his head into Dean’s shoulder, he pulled Dean back against his chest and rubbed his brother’s arms and tried not to think as Dean cried himself to sleep.

 

 

^^ Comments always appreciated 

 


	2. Snow Falling

 

 

 

**Now**

Sam stared out the window at the falling snow, not really listening as the solicitor droned on. Dean had left Sam practically everything, with a few minor exceptions. Sam couldn’t wait to be out of there. It reminded him of the first time he’d been in a room like this: wood paneled, expensive. The previous occasion hadn’t been much happier, with JD peering down at both of them, but then of course he’d had Dean by his side to protect him. He swallowed around the sudden lump in his throat.

It came as a bit of a surprise that Sam got everything, it had been almost seven years, after all. But Chris had told him there had been no significant other in Dean’s life since Sam left. Sam nodded thoughtfully. Even though it had always been the two of them against the world, Sam had been sure that, in the intervening years, Dean would find someone he could be happy with. But evidently that wasn’t the case. Dean had people of course, he was surrounded by them everyday. People who were loyal to him, people who feared him, but it seemed Sam had been the only one to really love Dean.

After the solicitor finished, Sam and the others gathered outside, several to grab a smoke, most just to chat before the wake that night at the funeral home. Sam looked around. Some of the people in the small group he and Dean had grown up with, others were new to him. People Dean had met as he’d clawed his way up the ladder of the lower east side mob.

There was Chris, Dean’s second, ruthless to a fault, and Tiny, Dean’s longtime bodyguard. Filing his nails near the steps was Prettyboy John, who Sam had personally seen slit a man’s throat and smile the whole time; beside him, a little twitchy wearing an unaccustomed tie, was Gabe: the joker, the cooler. Gabe could keep everyone calm when things got rough. Across from them, shoulders hunched in her fur coat, her eyes red, presumably from crying, was Jo, Dean’s on-again, off-again fuck buddy and regular beard at all the formal ‘family’ events Dean had to attend. Although it was no secret amongst Dean’s inner circle that he swung both way, the mob was not especially known for being bi- or gay-friendly.

Sam turned his collar up against the falling snow and made his goodbyes for now. He couldn’t keep from hating them all a little. They’d all played a part in Dean's becoming a ruthless killer.

After the crowded, smoky hall where the wake was held, Dean’s penthouse appeared refreshingly large and open. Sam’s first impressions were, spare, tasteful, and coldly modern. Everything in it was of the very best quality, of course, but Sam got no sense of home from Dean’s few belongings.

Dean must have changed more than Sam would have expected over the intervening years, to be at home here. Sam wandered through the condo aimlessly. He had never been here before, it had been a later move, long after Sam had left. They had moved so many times together, he and Dean. Sam had no real sense of home that wasn’t Dean. Dean  _was_  home.

His hands trailed over the artfully placed knick knacks, nothing Dean would ever have chosen. The Dean he knew would have had the crank case of an old chevy on the kitchen table to tinker with in his free moments. With no homey touches of his brother's to be found Sam’s opinion of the apartment changed from cool and modern to completely cold and utterly soulless. He would take that first apartment he had shared with Dean, any day, over this ice palace.

He wandered into the bedroom, wondering if there was a remnant of the Dean he knew anywhere in this place, or if after Sam had left, Dean had scrubbed all trace of him out of his life completely.

He found it by the bed, a framed polaroid of the two of them, hamming it up. It looked like it had been taken in that first real apartment on moving day. Both of them looked so young, so happy. It had been taken early in the morning, long before the veil was torn from Sam’s eyes and he found out how much Dean had given up to give them his happy life. Sam’s hand tightened on the frame, the glass creaking in protest.

 

Sam walked through the double doors onto the balcony that circled the penthouse, his hand still wrapped around the photo. The cold was bracing after the overheated rooms of the funeral home and Sam needed to cool off. Even after all these years, thinking of Dean bent over that sofa could still get him hard. The bracing air helped clear his head, cool his growing erection, and ease his shame at being aroused by so sordid a memory.

As he stared out over the city, Sam didn’t know what he had expected to find here, what he’d hoped to gain. Dean had made his choice, made it more than clear how things stood, and Sam wasn’t tripping over a shrine to himself here anytime soon.

Exhausted by the flight, the time change, and the stress of it all, Sam stretched out fully-clothed across Dean’s bed. The service was tomorrow. One more day, and Sam could return to California and try to pretend that Dean’s death didn’t mean the end of his life.

Lying there alone, Sam realized it had been years since he’d slept with Dean in the same bed. Growing up in crap digs, they’d often shared a bed simply to stay warm. Dean was a comforting weight spooned against Sam’s back at night, his breath a soft huff on Sam’s neck. As he grew older, at least in Sam’s mind, sleeping with Dean became a less innocent affair. The warm nudge of Dean’s morning wood against his crease was an aching taunt that sent Sam hurrying off to shower before his brother could spot his own morning arousal.

Sam was never sure if Dean grew suspicious of Sam’s sudden leap out of bed, or had just thought Sam was too old to sleep with him, anymore. In any case, Dean had started to pull away. As the years went by and Dean’s rise in the organization continued, he’d grown more and more distant.

In Sam’s place, a steady stream of men and women came and went in Dean’s bed, with far less innocent intent. Dean’s success, and his remarkable beauty, undimmed by maturity, meant he could have practically anyone he wanted. Sam had spent many jealous, sleepless nights with his hand fisting his own cock, listening to the sounds from his brother’s room. The last time Sam slept with Dean wasn’t for any of the reasons Sam might have hoped.

Sam’s hand unconsciously reached across the bed, but there was no one there.

**Now**

After a fitful night's sleep, Sam rose and took a last look around, taking the picture as the only thing worth keeping, slipped it into a pocket of his suit coat, and quietly left the suite. There was nothing for him here anymore, maybe there never had been.

 

Dean Winchester was buried at Trinity Church Cemetery in Manhattan on a snowy December morning. Sam stood by the gravesite and surveyed the surprisingly large group of people at the ceremony. Many of his old crew were there, not the least of whom was Dean’s longtime second, Chris Kane.

“Sorry for your loss, Sam.” Kane’s blue eyes looked Sam over carefully before grappling him into a bear hug. “You gonna be okay, son?” he said, finally releasing him.

Sam nodded and tried to smile. “So I guess today’s sort of a win for you. Or am I out of date?”

“No, you ain’t wrong, I’ll be third on the ladder now, and looking to move up. The LaRosa family is gonna pay for Dean’s death, Sammy, don’t you worry.” Sam nodded jerkily and Chris patted his arm and stood back.

When the funeral was over, Sam shook all the obligatory hands as people drifted away toward their vehicles. Car doors chunked shut, motors started and purred away as he stood alone and waited by the graveside while the casket was lowered into the ground, waited long after the hole had been carefully filled in, and the workers had all gone home. Waited for someone to step up and tell him the joke was on him, that this was all just a complicated ruse, that Dean Winchester couldn’t possibly be dead. Dean was too wily for that. This was all part of some elaborate scheme, and soon someone would tap him on the shoulder and tell him this nightmare was over. Indigo shadows on the snow grew deeper and lengthened as the sun started to go down, and nobody came.

Sam was left shivering in the cold.

**THEN**

“Well fuck me if it hasn’t happened, Sam!” Dean’s eyes were wild as he looked over at seventeen-year-old Sam beside him in the back seat of the Impala. “I never thought JD would bite it this way. Or leave me in charge of the gambling houses. Holy hell, Sammy boy, can you believe it?” Dean’s face glowed, and Sam’s heart hurt at how beautiful his brother was to look at.

“You’ve earned it, Dean.” Sam murmured, his overlarge hands clasped in front of him. Sam had kept a tight lid on his emotions since that day of the shooting. He’d long since come to the realization that, not only was he gay, he was gay for his brother. Over the years, he’d pushed his feelings down with a ruthlessness he hadn’t known he was capable of, pouring all his energy into study. And now it had all come together. He’d graduated almost two years early, and had earned a full ride to Stanford. He was going to major in political science, and he was leaving in two weeks for California.

“Those Sortinos are gonna pay for this. Blood is gonna pour in the streets, Sam. I’ll get them for what they did to JD.”

Sam nodded wearily.

“Come on, let’s go to another bar. The night's still young, right, Chris?” Dean called up to the man driving, as Dean was too drunk to get behind the wheel of his baby.

“I think maybe, boss, I should take you home. You’ll have a lot on your plate tomorrow. You’ll need a good night's rest.”

“Killjoy! Sammy, you’ll come with me, right?”

Sam shook his head ruefully. “I think this time, Chris’s got it right, bro. It’s way past all our bedtimes.”

“Freakin’ killjoys,” Dean slurred, and took a swig from the bottle of whiskey in his hand. “Fine, then drive me somewhere and I’ll party by myself.”

Dean curled up into the corner and Sam nodded at Chris to proceed home. Home at that time had been a modest brownstone on the upper east side. Sam was sure JDs’ death meant another move, but then, Sam was moving on, too. He tried to ignore how much his heart hurt at the thought: not waking up to his brother's singing in the shower in the mornings, not looking forward to a half-naked glimpse of Dean as he disappeared afterward, down the hall into his own bedroom. Dean sleepy-eyed and adorably groggy in the morning before his first cup of joe. Dean at night, after a successful raid or deal, green eyes glittering, saucy smirk on lips as he strode into the apartment, riding his latest high.

Of course there were things Sam wouldn’t miss: Dean’s terrible rages when he was crossed, Dean when he turned cold and mean. Dean as he stalked through the house covered in blood. Or worst of all, Dean injured. Sam hated worst of all when it was Dean's blood.

Sam sighed and shoved those thoughts aside, more than a little full himself of whiskey and emotion, and he was aware he tended to lean to the melodramatic, anyway. Things weren’t that bad. He glanced down at Dean, who snuffled in his sleep and turned to curl into Sam’s body, reflexively seeking warmth. Sam chuckled and raised his arms, making room for the force that was Dean Winchester.

Looking back at them in the rearview mirror, Chris shook his head and laughed. “He’s your brother, man.”

The two of them half-carried Dean up to his bedroom and dumped him onto the kingsized bed, still wearing his black Armani suit.

Chris’ eyebrows rose in offer, but Sam waved him off. “S’okay man, I got it from here. I think I’m big enough now I can handle him.” Sam laughed. Chris shrugged and, with a parting salute, left the room.

At six-foot-five, now, Sam certainly could look after Dean, could probably have carried him up here in his arms if he had needed to. He hummed low in his throat. This might be the last time he ever got to see Dean naked.

Sam gently tugged Dean’s jacket off him, then rolled him over onto his back so he could continue unwrapping him from his clothes.

Sam carefully unbuttoned Dean’s dress shirt, pushing back the fine cotton to reveal Dean’s freckled chest. He’d been working out lately and Sam’s fingers traced admiringly over the cut of a forming six pack. He paused for a minute to touch the new scars Dean had collected, a mark from a bullet hole in his shoulder, what looked like knife slashes across his abdomen, and some puckered, long-healed wound along his side that Sam couldn’t guess at its origins.

Dean muttered something in his sleep.

“S’okay big brother, I gottcha.” Sam straightened guiltily and pulled one sleeve off Dean’s arm, then rolled him to the other side to remove the rest of the shirt.

Sighing, his fingers strayed to circle each perky nipple in turn. Sam leaned down and breathed in the fresh leafy scent that was uniquely Dean, like fresh-cut grass and gun oil, with a shot of cinnamon. Sam’s tongue darted out to lap at one nipple and then he shrank back as Dean whined and rolled on his side, mumbling something.

Socks tossed in the hamper in the corner, shoes on the closet floor, slacks folded neatly over the back of the chair, Sam pulled a fresh t-shirt out and tugged it over Dean’s head. Dean was a boxer briefs man these days and Sam admired how the white cotton molded itself to Dean’s hips outlining the half-hard line of his cock through the material.

“Sammy, that you?” Dean whispered, oddly vulnerable as Sam tugged the bedding down from underneath him and let his brother roll onto his back in the middle of the bed.

“Yeah, 's me, Dean. You’re safe. We’re back at the house. You had a bit too much to drink.”

“He used me Sam…He hurt me sometimes.”

Sam didn’t need to ask who. Didn’t need to question, he simply gathered Dean up into his arms, burying his face in Dean’s neck. “I know, Dean. I’ve always known.”

“I-I never wanted…”

“I know, Dean.” Sam pressed small butterfly kisses over Dean’s cheeks, the tender, fragile skin of his closed eyelids, and along the strong column of his neck. Dean sighed softly and tipped his head back to allow Sam better access, and Sam groaned at the sight of Dean submitting so readily to his touch. In spite of his better judgment, Sam was soon licking over Dean’s lips, and Dean’s mouth fell open with a soft sigh.

“All I ever wanted was you, Sammy. Only you.”

Sam exhaled raggedly and plunged his tongue into Dean’s mouth. He didn’t want to listen anymore, didn't want to hear Dean say something that he would regret, that in morning's light would be a lie.

“Hush. Don’t say a word, Dean. Just let me take care of you tonight.” Sam proceeded to kiss Dean thoroughly, coming up for air only when he thought he had rendered Dean speechless.

Dean’s eyelids flickered open lethargically. “Always you, Sammy.” Dean’s hand ran through Sam’s now shoulder-length hair. “Long. Looks good on you though, baby. Don’t tell anyone I ever said so.”

“No, Dean, never.” Sam whispered as he kissed a path down Dean’s chest. Connecting one freckle after another with a trail of small bites and kisses.

Dean started to rise on his elbows to reach for Sam.

Sam planted a hand on his chest and gently pushed him down, “Lie back Dean. Wanna make you feel good.” Sam reached to the bedside drawer for the lube he knew there would be there, and laid it ready on the bed.

Dean wasn’t the first man Sam had ever been with. As with his academics, Sam had hunkered down and learned his way around a man’s body. At the time, Sam had thought it would never happen, but he’d applied himself with a vengeance. For the first time in his life, being a part of a crime family had been to his advantage; he’d discreetly used Dean’s connections to the escort houses they ran, to learn everything he could about how to please a man. He’d used his growing height and breadth to advantage, and sought out other boys and young men to practice on, until he was confident he would be ready. He wanted to be good for Dean, and Sam knew that virginal fumblings weren’t usually the best course.

Honestly, he’d never actually believed it would happen, but now that it was, Sam was going to do everything in his power to make this one night memorable for both of them.

Sam nibbled first one nipple, sucking the pump tidbit into his mouth, rolling it around on his tongue. Then he bit, ever so gently. Dean gasped, and his back arched. Smiling, Sam moved his attention to the other perky morsel and licked a warm wet ring around it before sucking it into his mouth. Sam nursed on the one nipple, and rolled and tugged the other between his fingers. Dean’s head rolled back and forth as he mewled in pleasure.

Another small, sharp bite, and Sam released the second nipple and licked a path down to Dean’s half-hard cock. Ignoring the thickening flesh, Sam nosed down Dean’s cock to mouth at his balls. Dean bucked up against Sam and Sam had to hold Dean still, his hands on Dean’s hips. Sam sucked in both balls at once, and rolled them gently with his tongue. Reluctantly releasing them, Sam focused on Dean’s cock, now rock-hard and bobbing prettily against his belly.

Sam hummed in appreciation and licked a trail up the thick vein on the underside, spending some time just under the helmet head to rub at the sensitive nerves there. He noted with approval Dean’s death grip on the bedcovers as he mouthed over the head of Dean’s weeping cock. He took Dean in one smooth glide, right to the back of his throat. Sam had always believed practice made perfect.

“Oh God! Sam!” Dean cried, almost rocketing off the bed. Only Sam’s hands kept his brother in place. Sam glanced up at Dean, his mouth full of cock and Dean groaned at the sight, his eyes narrowed to slits as he watched, catlike, as his brother blew him.

Quickly slicking his hands, Sam laid one on the flat of Dean’s stomach while the other moved between them to work slick fingers down and between the pert cheeks of Dean’s ass.

Sam pulled back to mouth just the head of Dean’s cock, his talented tongue working at the crown and slit as one finger circled Dean’s furled entrance. Sam’s ears warmed to the sounds Dean was making, and he sucked him back down his throat, bobbing up and down steadily.

Sam’s long finger had barely breached Dean’s hole before Dean was coming, moaning against Sam as he shot his load deep down Sam’s throat. Sam’s finger continued to search until it found what it was looking for and Sam milked the last of Dean’s orgasm from him as he massaged the small bump of his prostate.

“Oh God, Oh God…. Sam… Sammy.” Dean’s eyes were glazed when Sam pulled off Dean’s dick with a wet slurp. Rock hard in his own pants, Sam closed his eyes and pushed his hand down against his erection. This was supposed to be about Dean.

“S’okay Sam…” Dean’s voice was surprisingly present, and Sam looked up, blushing. “I want it." Dean pleaded. "I want you. Please…”

Sam's eyes closed on a groan. He slipped the buckle of his belt, hurriedly pulling down his pants.

Dean’s legs fell open in invitation and Sam almost creamed himself right there, at the debauched sight of his brother laid out on the bed for his pleasure alone.

“Dean, are you sure?” Sam tried and failed to steady the tremble in his voice. But he needed to be sure.

Dean's expression was as desperate as it was wanton. "Do it, Sammy."

Sam spread lube on his cock. He shuffled Dean into position: on his back, but hips rolled to the side, knees pressed together, with his slick, pink hole exposed. Sam's fingers slid easily inside, first one, then two, then three. Dean, more alert, now, grunted and cursed, “Damn it Sammy, just how big are you?”

Sam chuckled darkly. “Pretty damn big, De. Don’t want to hurt you, man.”

“Fuck. I’ll die of frustration, first.” Sam was surprised to see Dean’s cock fattening again. “Fuck, just do it,” Dean swore.

One hand on Dean’s top leg, Sam eased between his cheeks, savoring the tight fit as he pressed inside. Dean closed his eyes and swore again. “Fucking big bastard.”

Sam laughed outright and slapped Dean’s ass cheek, distracting him from the pain. He looked down, hypnotized by the sight of his cock disappearing into Dean’s beautiful pink hole. He slapped again, and Dean’s ass cheeks reddened. Sam could feel the vibrations on his dick inside Dean’s channel. He slapped the taut flesh again and Dean clenched down on him.

Dean gasped, “Who knew my brother was such a kinky bastard?”

Sam squeezed his eyes closed and bit at his own lip. He needed to get himself under control. He wanted to make this last, make Dean beg for it. Dean was starting to wriggle impatiently by the time Sam thought he had pulled back from the edge just enough. Huffing out a ragged breath Sam smiled, it was time to get this show on the road.

He began to piston in and out of his brother. He had wanted to go slow, make it good for Dean, but if the sight of Dean’s angry red dick slapping against his belly again was any sign, Dean was fully on board.

Sam leaned down to bite at Dean’s lips. The desire to be  _inside_  his brother in every way possible was almost overwhelming. His tongue plunged back into Dean’s mouth. Stuffed at both ends, Dean moaned, and Sam moved to take Dean's cock in his hand, lube-slick fingers slipping up and down Dean’s shaft, twisting over the head.

He’d love to see Dean come on his cock alone, but this night was supposed to be about Dean. Meanwhile, the sight of the pink swollen tip of Dean’s dick disappearing and reappearing as Sam fisted him sent Sam hurtling straight toward his climax.

Sam's balls drew up, and Dean whimpered at Sam’s suddenly too-tight grip on his cock. With a rough grunt, Dean spilled in Sam’s hand, and the resulting fluttering contractions on Sam’s dick pushed him over the edge, as well.

Reluctant to withdraw from the warm oasis that was Dean, Sam eased down to slump on his side of the bed beside Dean, his cock still buried deep inside his brother. Panting, he pulled them both up higher on the bed and continued to rock his half-hard dick inside his brother’s channel. Dean moaned, and that simple sound, all on it’s own, had Sam’s teenage cock fattening up again.

Dean tilted his head back to look at Sam and smirked. “It’s always the damn shy ones that get you.”

Sam leaned over and kissed him.

“Always you Dean, always.”

“Since when, Sam?”

“Since the first day you rescued me. Why did we leave this so long?”

“Don’t know Sammy, but we’ll enjoy it until you leave.”

**Now**

Why indeed, Sam thought forlornly as he stared down at the flat bare patch of soil. He looked around, it had began to snow, just a light dusting, but the temperature was dropping and Sam shivered. Somehow in Sam’s version of reality, Dean was supposed to appear. Anytime now, Dean. Sam looked again, but there was no one in the vicinity. Nothing. Certainly not Dean’s distinctive profile.

A horrible feeling of dread filled Sam and he staggered back from the gravesite in disbelief. He’d held it together all this time because there was no way he could believe that any of this was real. No way that Dean Winchester was gone. Sam had to be missing something. He raked spread fingers through his hair and scrambled to think, to remember some place, some spot he had overlooked, where Dean might be waiting for him. With a relived half-sob, he turned and ran across the yard, ran to the small angel headstone in the corner of the cemetery.

 

**THEN**

“Well, Stanford doesn’t know what they’re in for, offering you a free ride,” Dean chuckled. “Just remember, if you get bored studying, I can offer you a free ride, too. Any time, brother.” Dean leered playfully at Sam, as he sat at the edge of Sam’s bed. Sam grimaced and kept on stuffing his few prized possessions into his bag.

“Why don’t you come with me? Get out of this rat race before you end up like JD, dead or worse. Come with me to Stanford. A clean slate, Dean, a place to start over. You’ve got more than enough money.” Sam gestured vaguely around him at Dean’s newest home, grander and larger than any yet.

A sad smile appeared fleetingly across Dean’s face. “Don’t you know, Sam? There’s nowhere for me to go. There never has been. I’m in too deep, bro. I just – I don’t want to lose all this. I worked too hard to get where I am. Now are you almost done, or what? Time’s a tickin’ and we haven’t even tried it in every room, yet.”

Sam blushed at the thought. Since that first night, he and Dean had been going at it like rabbits. He’d fucked Dean over every surface in the apartment, and now in the new mansion. He had wanted to ask Dean to fuck him, but had been strangely reluctant. He’d never let any of his practice subjects fuck him, never even been engaged enough with any of them to be tempted. He had been saving himself for Dean so long, waiting for his brother to finally see him and love him in that way.

Now he was a little afraid. He had a suspicion that if he offered that part of himself to Dean now, it would be unwelcome. That Dean would know Sam was committing a last final part of himself, and Dean would be stuck with him here in New York forever.

In spite of the great sex they were having, Dean had never once hinted that this was a lasting thing. There had been no grand confessions of undying love from Dean. No hint that this was anymore than brotherly affection, and a good time.

Dean hadn't shown real interest in keeping Sam by his side for several years now, instead, encouraging him to apply across the country and abroad. It stung, more than a little, but Dean could probably hardly wait until his pesky kid brother was out of the way, so Dean could start living his life. These last couple of weeks together had been just a blip on the radar, with Dean more needy than usual after the killing, and Sam handy. In the end, Sam was simply another in a long line of Dean’s conquests.

It wasn’t as if Dean was consciously trying to hurt Sam. Dean had been more than obliging, eager to please his brother. For Dean, this was more about having fun while it lasted. But Sam had found their time together had only made his love and hunger for Dean grow.

Now, being shuttled off to California like a one-night-stand who'd overstayed his welcome, Sam had to face reality. This was a good thing, what he’d always wanted. He’d hated this life, had never wanted it, and Stanford was his one big chance to break away from it all. He sure as hell didn’t want to stay here and grow to despise Dean, trapped in a life he hated.

“I’m sorry, Dean. I wish you felt differently. I think we could be really good together out there…”

Dean reached gently and caught Sam’s jaw in his hand, “Don’t, Sam. Just don’t. You have your life and I have mine. Now, kiss me. I have something to show you before I drop you off at the airport.”

The ride in the limo was quiet. Dean had raised the privacy screen between them, and Tiny up front. Sam’s eyebrows rose with it.

“Listen Sam. I want you to know that if anything should happen to me, I- Well, everything goes to you, man. I want you to be happy, Sam. And believe it or not, I want you to build something for yourself out there.”

Sam stared at him open mouthed, “Dean I never wanted…”

“Nah, I know it, Sasquatch. Come here, give me a hug.” And Dean grabbed Sam and pulled him into a bear hug, Sam let his eyes close, relaxed into his brother’s hold, and breathed deep to take in Dean’s familiar scent, as tears poured down his cheeks. The circle of Dean's arms was the safest place Sam had known since Dean had rescued that small, frightened boy all those years ago.

The next thing Sam knew, Dean was nudging him in the shoulder. “Come on, big guy. Wakey, wakey.”

Sam lifted his head. He had literally fallen asleep in Dean’s arms.

“We’re here.” Dean’s voice was somber.

Sam looked blearily out the limo window, and the sweet lassitude he’d awoken with burned away with one look at the tombstones surrounding them.

“Where’s 'here,' Dean?”

“Trinity Cemetery, and I want to show you something. I’ve wanted to show you it for a long time, now.”

While Tiny lounged by the car with a smoke, Dean shouldered a small knapsack he’d brought with him, and took Sam’s hand. It was quickly apparent Dean had a specific location in mind, but Sam couldn’t guess to what purpose. Neither of them had any family here.

Dean finally slowed and ran his hand over a grey marble tombstone. The base itself was simple, but above the stone stood a beautiful carving of an angel cradling a small child close to her chest.

Sam arched an eyebrow at his brother as Dean ran his hands gently along the angel's wings. Dean shrugged, a fleeting smile on his face, “I wanted someone to protect her while she slept, Sam.”

Sam’s eyes widened and he looked down. He sank to his knees at the base of the stone, tears filling his eyes. His fingers reached out to touch the words engraved there.

‘Watched over forever with love, Stephanie Anne Singer Winchester’.

Sam’s fingers trembled as they traced the letters and dates beneath. His chest contracted, all breath squeezed out of him. He looked up at his brother, his lover, his protector and tears welled in his eyes. “How?”

“I found her Sam. I promised you a long time ago that I would. It just never seemed the right time to tell you, you were so young. And when things finally got good, I didn’t want to upset you again. But with you leaving, I just wanted you to know, that she would be safe with me. Safe forever.”

Sam stumbled to his feet, heart near bursting with emotion. He swept his brother up in his arms and held on tight, like he would never let go.

Sam felt strange, holding his shorter brother in his arms. Dean had always loomed so large, but holding him, Sam realized that next to him Dean seemed smaller, now. Something precious to be looked after, much like Stephy. Sam sobbed aloud at the thought.

“There’s just one thing you need to do, Sam.” Dean smiled gently when Sam finally let him go. He daubed at Sam’s eyes with a clean white handkerchief from his pocket.

“What's left Dean? You’ve done so much already.”

“There’s something you need to give Stephanie before we go.”

Dean reached for the knapsack over his shoulder and dug in. When his hand came out he was holding a small, tattered, child-sized bear.

“Oh my God, Mr. Bear! I thought I’d lost him in the move. I turned the house upside down looking for him. I made Consuela promise me that if she found him she’d ship him to me. And here you had him all along. Kidnapper.” Sam stared at him accusingly and took Bear and cradled him to his chest as if calming him, as he had done as a child.

Dean looked a little sheepish. “Sorry, Sammy. I had to make sure it was just the right size.” Dean reached down and pressed a discreetly hidden keypad under the angel's base. A small door opened.

“Perfectly bear-sized, so he can stay with her, Sam. Protect her in the night.”

“Dean…I...” Sam could no longer see his brother as water filled his eyes. He grasped Dean’s hands so tight he though he heard the bone creak. “You remembered.”

“I remember everything about you, Sam, and about Stephy. Come on, baby, it’s time.”

Nodding, and wiping the tears away once again, Sam gently placed Mr. Bear in his bear-sized bed at the angel’s feet. Dean pressed the combination and the door slid shut. “The six number combination is your birthday, if you ever want to visit with Bear a while.”

Dean smiled, and Sam’s mouth trembled when he saw Dean was crying too.

Dean pinched his nose and surreptitiously wiped his eyes, “We’ve gotta get going, or we’re gonna be late, ya big baby.”

Sam snorted and gathered Dean into his arms, and kissed him. “I love you, Dean Winchester.”

That was the last time they really spoke in years.

**Now**

Sam ran headlong through the cemetery, coming to a stop at the foot of Stephanie’s grave. If Dean was going to come to him anywhere, it had to be here. Panting, Sam crouched down before his sister’s stone and sent up a small prayer to her and a whispered hello to Mr. Bear.

He plucked away the odd leaf and waited.

He waited until sunset and the snow stopped and the graveyard had emptied completely.

He waited until the moon rose and snow started to fall again.

He waited until the cold set so deep in his heart that he knew it was finally time to let go.

 

^^ Comments always appreciated


	3. Snow Falling

 

**NOW**

Life back at Stanford seemed almost surreal after Manhattan. Sam took up his duties again, in time for the students’ return to class in January. If he was a little distant, a little sad, no one said anything. He could hear the students whispering upon his return, had seen the newspapers stacked up at his apartment door, with headlines like ‘Bloody Angel Mob Boss Struck Down,’ and ‘Winchester Reign of Terror Over’. No one had had the nerve yet to ask him about it directly, if he was _that_ Winchester’s brother, but the looks and whispers persisted.

Rather than being comforted by the University’s familiar halls, Sam felt estranged, out of step. His passion for teaching fizzled and his attention drifted. Seemingly unable to get himself into the right frame of mind, it proved more difficult than he'd expected to even finish out the semester. It was only thanks to friends and fellow instructors, like Jess's and Jo’s, constant cheerleading and nagging, that he’d managed to make it through to the end of the year.

Having Dean’s money turned out to be a small blessing, after all. It gave Sam the freedom to take some time off and not have to worry about income. Sam was sure the University would be glad to be rid of him, after the last four months. The venerable institution was more than willing to move the spotlight of a possible scandal involving one of the youngest professors at Stanford off campus grounds to somewhere, anywhere, else.

The University surprised him, though, offering both a sabbatical, and a guarantee of his tenure. His job would be waiting for him upon his return the following year, leaving Sam free to do what he wanted in the meantime. Unsure how to proceed, when the source of his ennui was himself and his inability to get over Dean’s death, Sam vacillated on what to do next.

It was Jess who came up with the idea, in the end, urging Sam to splurge on renting a vacation property by the water. She suggested that a new location might inspire him to new things, and something about the idea rang true to Sam. He sublet his little apartment in town, and used some of Dean’s money to buy a little one-room cottage overlooking the sea, halfway between San Diego and Tijuana.

The days spent there turned into months, the quiet of the ocean soothed something inside him that had been raw and burning. Sam lived quietly, almost monk-like. He pilgrimaged regularly into town for supplies. The Impala, his other big indulgence, seemed to like the California air. He’d had it shipped out here. He couldn’t bear to leave it in Manhattan, it was his one remaining link to his brother. At least here with him, he could look after her. He owed Dean that much.

He thought about Dean as he navigated the fifteen minute drive into town. It was early December, only a week from the anniversary of Dean’s death. Sam’s mind blanked at the thought. It had been almost a year, but it all still seemed so surreal. He wasn’t sure when he would get used to a world without his brother in it.

Sam shivered. This part of California didn’t get as cold as New York, but this time of year the sea was a stormy grey, and there was a distinct chill in the air. He stared out the window. Maybe he’d drive up into the mountains in a day or two so he could see the snow falling. He missed seeing it.

Finished picking up supplies for the week, he pulled the Impala up to the curb across from his favorite coffee shop. He was in a hurry to get back. Jess was going to call him at one, and he didn’t want to miss their weekly chat.

He had to admit, they made far better friends than lovers. If Sam was honest with himself, his brief relationship with Jess had been more about loneliness than love. They had both been freshmen, and Jess had been kind and funny and warm, all the things he had missed with Dean in the years since he'd left. A phone call every couple of months and a flimsy excuse at Christmas that things were, conveniently, too busy for Dean to have much time, even if Sam did come home, had left Sam feeling lost and alone.

When his and Jess' relationship had fizzled, it had been amicable. They’d both gotten teaching positions at Stanford and found they had more in common as friend than lovers. Jess and her good friend and fellow instructor, Jo, had been Sam’s closest confidants for years now. Jess had been bugging him lately about the new semester, and he'd been hemming and hawing. Truth was, he had no ambition right now to return to teaching, or to leave the small sense of peace he’d found here. Jess had accused him of hiding. Sam thought she was probably right, but numb was better than hurting. Still, he missed her face, and wanted to get back in time for their scheduled chat.

He dashed into the shop, eager to get a mochachino and a croissant or two to go. He was reluctant to admit it, but he’d become somewhat addicted to the buttery dessert, and couldn’t seem to pass up a trip to the coffee shop to snag one on his way through town.

“Hey Charlie,” Sam smiled, walking up to the counter.

“Here for your fix, Sam?” Charlie grinned. The petite redhead had been somewhat unsubtle in her pursuit of Sam when he’d first arrived in town. Finally, in the interest of peace, Sam had had to confess his interests lay elsewhere. Charlie had taken the news with good grace and a little regret, and they’d become quite good friends over the intervening months.

“Have some bad news for you, Sam.” Charlie frowned, shaking her head sadly. “The worst, actually. We’re out of croissants, honey. Some guy came in and bought us out. I’m sorry Sam. If I’d known you were coming today I’d have saved you one.”

Crestfallen at the news, Sam stared mournfully at the bake case. “Oh. That is too bad.”

“I hear the cinnamon swirls are pretty good. I could even heat one up for you?” Charlie waggled her eyebrows at him and grinned.

“Ha! I know what you’re up to, trying to get me hooked on something else.” Sam checked his watch and shook his head, “Well actually I can’t, I’m running late. Maybe you can try and talk me over to the cinnamon side next time?”

Clutching his coffee, Sam wove through the sparse traffic to cross the main street. He’d had the oddest feeling lately, as if he was being watched. Over the last year, he’d had that same feeling a few times, and just chalked it up to some mob member or other checking up on him, surreptitiously. It had been a while, though, since he'd last felt it. As he searched for his keys, he scanned the streets, but could find nothing particularly suspect. Shaking his head, Sam decided it was just his overactive imagination, and climbed into the car.

 

His call with Jess was fun and lighthearted, and he dodged most of her more subtle hints. It was only when she came out point blank, and asked him, if he was coming back next semester that he had to come clean.

“Not really sure, Jess.”

“What do you mean, you’re not really sure?”

Sam shrugged and gave Jess a lopsided grin. “I’m just not feeling it, okay?”

“No, it’s not okay Sam. What aren’t you feeling?”

Sam sighed and shifted in his chair. “I’m not feeling the desire to teach right now, there’s no passion, no spark. I’ve always had that, till now. I think – I think I’m still burnt out.”

“It’s been a year, Sam. How long is it going to take for you to get over Dean? Your brother barely spoke to you once you moved out here. It was like you fell off face of the earth, as far as he was concerned, after he shuffled you out here to L.A. Hell, he invented every excuse in the world for you to not go home for holidays. I remember how upset you were, Sam, out here all on your own, abandoned. You need to take the hint, Sam. Your brother moved on with his life, you need to, as well.”

Sam shrugged and tried to grin, though it came out more of a grimace. Dean’s apartment hadn't told the story of a man who had moved on. It was the story of a man in stasis. Sam looked away. “I don’t know, I just feel off about the whole thing. But I’ll think about the spring term. Right now…I just need more time, okay?”

“Yeah, okay. Hey, maybe Jo and I should come down during the Christmas break, spend a few days?”

“Yeah, that would be great,” Sam said, and was surprised to find he meant it. They signed off with an agreement to firm things up by email.

Weary, Sam made up a plate of leftovers for supper, and went to bed early.

In spite of his exhaustion, Sam’s sleep was fitful. Awake for the third time that night, he lay staring up at the ceiling for what seemed like a long time, trying to will himself back to sleep. He gave up after half an hour, and with a sigh of exasperation, got out of bed. Maybe a cup of warm tea and a bit of reading would do the trick.

He made a beeline for the fridge, grabbing the orange juice and taking a long swallow directly from the carton. A creepy sensation down his spine made him turn to peer into the dark-shrouded living area.

“Is anyone there? Who’s there?” Sam swallowed back his unease, and groped for the light switch.The old, weak bulb over the sink illuminated only a small area of the kitchen, barely pushing out into the main living space. Sam was left squinting into the gloom.

Unable to see anything amiss, Sam tried to shrug it off, chalk it up to his imagination. He turned to put the kettle on, when he heard the distinctive clink of a glass being set down on a table.

“Who’s there? I’ve got a gun.” Sam didn’t even own a gun, but he thought it sounded good.

“Now, is that anyway to greet a brother after all this time?”

Sam’s thoughts spun too fast to register as he stared into the darkness. Peering closer, his eyes adjusting to the gloom, the outline of someone sitting on the sofa began to take shape, and the glint of a whiskey glass on the coffee table. He didn’t need to see the distinctive profile to know that was his brother, the voice alone…

“Dean…” It came out as a ragged whisper. Sam tried to swallow, his heart squeezed so tight he was barely able to breathe. Dean. Dean was alive.

“You’re alive,” Sam managed to croak out.

“Yeah, I am.”

“But how?” Sam took a step toward the dark living room and the figure rose and stepped toward him. Sam sucked in a sharp breath as Dean stepped into a swath of moonlight streaming through the living room window. It really was Dean. He looked good, younger than he had in years, like a giant weight had been lifted from his shoulders.

Dean stepped closer, his arms extended, and pulled Sam into his arms. Overwhelmed, Sam closed his eyes and relaxed into Dean’s bear hug, his own hands coming up reflexively to return the embrace. Dean, here with him, alive.

Dean groaned and squeezed Sam tighter to him. “Sammy. Oh, Sam, I've been working up to this for months, now. I didn’t want to rush things, in case you were being watched.”

“How are you even...”

“Shhhh.” Dean kissed Sam, full on the lips. The warm, soft pressure of Dean’s mouth on his made Sam groan, and he automatically opened his mouth.

They kissed for a long time, until breathless and hungry for answers, Sam pulled back to stare at Dean. “So tell me.” Sam couldn’t help sounding hurt, and guarded.

“Witness protection, Sammy boy. I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you, but like I said, I had to make sure you weren’t followed. I have a lot of enemies back in New York.”

“But I never saw you testify. You…they just found you dead.”

“Sometimes you don’t need to testify in court to be of use. Supplying names, numbers, and delivery dates can get you the same results without all the hoopla. I had been planning an exit strategy for years, once you were safely established out west. First, I had to make a break from you, and make it look convincing. That’s what was the hardest, then the Feds made the rest easy.” Dean reached out to cup Sam’s cheek in his palm, and Sam leaned into it, unconsciously.

“But your death, the pictures looked so real.” Sam tried to hold onto on his feelings of betrayal, but all he could focus on was the warm feeling of Dean’s rough fingertips on his face.

“Yeah, and it was damn cold lying on a road, let me tell you. The bloody wings were my idea. Too much?”

“You bastard! You let me think you were dead all this time.” The shock of Dean’s return was wearing off, and fury began to settle in its place. Sam shoved Dean away, but his brother instantly yanked him back.

“You think I wanted this?” Dean growled, “You think I wanted you to go to California? To stay away from you, especially after what we shared? It killed me to let you go, but I had to! It was the only way, to drive you off. I had to get you out of the life completely. You think I don’t know how much I hurt you Sam? I do, trust me, I do.

“I DIED for you Sam, it was the only way we could safely be together. So we wouldn’t be looking over our shoulders the rest of our lives!” Dean snarled, and balled a fist in Sam's t-shirt to pull him up, nose to nose.

“It killed me, watching you go through the days like a freaking zombie. It took everything I had to stay away. But you’ve been clear for months, now. The mob has all lost all interest in you, and I was going to come clean in the next week or so, until I saw you in the coffee shop today, looking so forlorn.”

“I thought there was someone watching me.” Sam’s voice trailed off.

“Who else would I watch in this one horse town, Sam?”

Sam’s voice was soft, his mind finally catching up with his frantically beating heart, “And you’re here for me?”

“Sure am, Sam. I love you man. Always have.”

And just like that Dean was kissing him, his tongue sweeping along the seam of Sam’s lips, demanding entry. Sam’s lips parted on a sigh, and Dean swept in. They surged together hungrily, as they relearned each other in a desperation of tangled tongues and soft kisses. Dean’s lips didn’t leave Sam’s the whole time, as he walked him backwards toward the bedroom.

A trail of discarded clothing followed them and Dean’s breath was a ragged panting in Sam’s ear by the time Dean pushed him down, naked, onto the bed. Sam’s cock was already hard and leaking.

Sam stared up at his brother, still too dazed by Dean’s apparent return to life to be anything but grateful. Dean leaned over him, his arms on either side of Sam’s head.

“Wanna make love to you, Sam. Wanna make up for all this lost time.”

“We can stay together now? You want us to stay together?” Sam stared up at him, still dazed by events of the last few minutes.

Dean grabbed Sam’s head and pulled it up to his chest, and pressed a soft kiss on Sam’s forehead.

Sam lifted his chin and saw green eyes glittering with unshed tears. “Yes, we can, little brother. I’m free of it all now, and you are too. We can live happily ever after, if that’s okay with you?”

Sam nodded, tears suddenly pricking at the corners of his own eyes. “I should be so angry at you, lying to me for all these years, making me think…”

“Be mad at me later all you want, Sammy. But for now, shut up, so you can fuck me proper. Where’s the lube?”

Sam looked at Dean helplessly. Lube? He hadn’t needed lube for years now. Not with Dean gone.

“Never mind, I’ve got an idea.” And Dean was gone, adorable bowlegs striding out of the bedroom.

“Dean?” Sam squawked, confused, and pushed himself up on his elbows.

He heard the sound of cupboards being opened and closed as Dean rattled around in his kitchen. Sam’s brow furrowed. What the hell was his brother up to?

“Eureka!” Sam had to grin at the sight of Dean striding back, triumphant, a bottle of vegetable oil in hand as his cock bounced against his belly. “We have liftoff.”

Dean twisted off the cap and started to slick up his hand. He reached behind him and Sam lurched up. “No!”

Dean stopped, frozen in place. Disappointment clouded his features. “But I thought….”

“No! No, I mean, yes. I mean – wait. I want you to fuck me, Dean.”

“But Sam, you’ve never wanted… I want you. I 've missed having you in me. Don't you want me?”

“No, no, you don’t understand. I think I’m ready now.”

Dean’s hand dropped by his side. He looked adorably confused. “What are you saying, Sam?” Dean’s voice had grown huskier, deeper.

“I know this sounds like something a pretty, pretty princess would say, but I was kinda...saving myself for you, Dean. In New York you didn’t seem to... Then I left for school, and we drifted apart, and the time just never came.”

“Not with anyone, Sam?” Dean’s concerned faced looked down at him and Sam could only shake his head shyly. There’d been no one he had wanted like that since De.

“Sam, if it bothers you, we never have to do this.” Dean’s head tilted as he scanned Sam’s face.

“No! God, Dean, that’s not what I mean. It’s what I’ve always wanted, for us to be together. It was my one regret when I thought you’d died, that we never did this. I want you inside me, Dean.”

“You sure, Sammy? We could work up to it.” Dean looked so unsure, so vulnerable. Sam couldn’t help but sit up and gather Dean into his arms and kiss him. Then he flopped back on the bed, laughing.

“No, you idiot. Now come on, fuck me before we both combust.”

Cat-quick, Dean leaned down over Sam and started kissing him. He ran his hands through Sam’s shoulder-length hair. “Still keeping it long, baby, I like it on you.” Dean nuzzled Sam’s jawline and licked and kissed his face. His hand snaked down to jack Sam’s cock. “Wanna touch you first, want to see you come apart for me.”

Sam moaned, and as Dean’s fingers worked up and down his shaft, Sam bit his own lip and stared up into those beautiful green eyes he had always known so well, and had missed so very much. As Dean’s hand jacked him, Sam mapped all the subtle changes in his brother’s face since he’d last seen him. Dean looked younger, happier than Sam remembered in years. Sam groaned and his eyelids fluttered closed as Dean’s hand tightened around Sam’s cock. Sam barely had time to blink before he was coming. Months of sad self-denial and neglect were wiped out in an orgasm so intense his dick practically exploded at Dean's touch. Sam fell back into the pillows, startled by his body’s reaction, and Dean chuckled.

“Feel so good in my hand, Sammy. Now that I got you all loosened up, you ready for more?” Dean licked his lips suggestively, and leaned in to run his come-covered hand over Sam’s belly, rubbing Sam's own slick into his skin. Sam shivered in reaction, and nodded, afraid if he spoke his voice would crack.

Dean snagged up an abandoned t-shirt from the floor and wiped his hands, then opened the bottle of vegetable oil and slicked up a couple of fingers.

“Should roll over, up on your knees, Sammy. They say it’s better for your first time.”

Blissed out, Sam obliged, and rolled bonelessly over onto his belly. At Dean’s urging, he pulled up onto his knees, and spread them with a soft moan.

“That’s my boy.” Dean’s work-roughened hand rubbed gently over the globes of Sam’s ass. His oil-slick fingers rubbed a trail down into Sam's crease, circling the tightly clenched hole. Still high on endorphins, it was easier for Sam to relax. With a shaky laugh, he consciously eased up and was rewarded with Dean’s finger dipping playfully inside. “There you go.” Sam's pride swelled at the warm tone of approval.

“Tip forward, baby, rest your weight on your arms, and relax.” Dean’s voice was hypnotic, deep and soothing, and Sam did as he asked.

“Gonna go in slow, baby. You ever touch yourself here?”

Sam nodded, glad his face was hidden by his hair. A blush that started in his cheeks burned like wildfire across Sam’s body, and soon spread across his chest.

“So beautiful, Sam.” Dean’s fingers continued to circle around Sam’s entrance. The one digit that had carefully pushed inside Sam’s hole continued to rock in and out. Sam whimpered in need. Two fingers were inside him now, and Dean crooked them to hit ‘right there’ inside him. When they were up to three, Dean started to scissor his fingers to help stretch him. The odd full sensation started to feel more natural, and Sam pushed back against Dean’s hand. Dean chuckled, rubbing Sam’s hip with his free hand. “So, you up for more, now? Knew you’d like this.”

With a quick squelch of lube, Dean’s fingers withdrew, and Sam moaned at the loss. Dean slicked his cock, and soon the warm, blunt head of it rubbed along Sam’s crease, then pressed against Sam’s entrance, and bore down. Sam moaned again as Dean’s unyielding flesh pushed past the outer ring of muscle and burrowed deep inside him. When Dean came to a stop and seemed to settle, Sam squirmed at the full, burning sensation, and whimpered softly.

“It’ll get better, Sam, just give it time,” Dean whispered, as he hunched over Sam's back, his cock buried deep in him. Dean ran his hands possessively over Sam’s muscled body. He plucked playfully at Sam’s nipples until they raised taut, and sore. Sam panted and squirmed against him, his cock, which had flagged as Dean entered him, filling again in interest.

“There’s my boy,” Dean said again, his voice smug as he started to move inside Sam. Taking it slow, he dragged his cock back and forth, hitting Sam’s prostate with every thrust. Soon, Sam was a writhing mess under him, pleading wordlessly for more. With a soft chuckle, Dean rose upright, grabbed Sam by the hips, and began to pound into him. Repeatedly filled with Dean’s thick dick, it was no time before Sam’s cock twitched. Sam tried to reach under his belly to jack himself, but Dean batted his hand away with a growl. “I gottcha, Sammy.”

Dean took him in hand, stripping him hard and fast, and Sam came with a desperate cry, shooting his load all over Dean’s hand and the bedsheet beneath. He clenched down, and Dean cried out as he too spilled, deep inside Sam.

Sam was barely conscious when Dean rolled them both over on the bed, away from the wet spot. Dean’s hand ran comfortingly over Sam’s sweating, trembling body.

Dean curled himself around Sam’s long, lanky body, pushing Sam’s sweat-soaked hair out of his eyes before cradling him in his arms. Dean kissed Sam reverently on the nape of his neck. “You okay, Sammy?”

“Better than okay, Dean.” Sam's eyes closed, his body thrumming with pleasure.

“You glad you waited for me? That was quite the gift, Sam, don’t think it doesn’t mean everything to me. I love you, Sam Winchester.”

“And I love you, Dean Winchester.” Sam smiled.

“That’s Ross Singer now, baby, and I love you too." His voice rose in an attempted falsetto. "And I think you’re the prettiest princess of them all, Sammy boy.”

“Jerk.” Sam's rejoinder would have been sharper and more sarcasm-laden if he hadn't been so fucked out and happy. "Shut up."

He laughed and snuggled closer against Dean, who mumbled, “Bitch,” before he tumbled off to sleep.

Still restless, Sam pushed in tighter next to his brother and looked out the window at the grey December sky. There was no snow out here so close to the water, but maybe they could take that trip to the mountains Sam had been thinking about. It was Dean’s favorite time of the year after all. Sam thought now, maybe it was his, as well.

 

**FIN**

 

 

**Comments Immensely appreciated no matter when you read this story. ^^**

Fic writers work for comments and I'd like to at least make minimum wage : )


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